“Yes. The weed was all right. They don’t count, and I don’t care. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. At sunset the swarming abruptly ceased; even the sampans appeared to draw closer together, with the quiet of water-fowl. His mother smiled in return, an act that brightened her thin face. “In the end,” it seemed to be thinking, “they embalmed me with the utmost respect—sound spices chosen to endure—the best! I took my world as I found it. “It’s okay. Each of my scholars thinks it his own shirt. “May I enquire,” he asked smoothly, “in what way my appearance contributes to your amusement? If there is a joke I should like to share it.
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